I’m sitting on the floor of Penny Lane Records digging through bins of 45s while eavesdropping on the other shoppers. It’s busy at around noon on a Saturday and the names dropped are varied. Clairo. Phoebe Bridgers. Crystal Castles. “Have you heard Slowdive?” one person asks. “They’re shoe— there’s a name for it.” A mom, who is probably right around my own age, is hyping up Korn and System of a Down to a disinterested kid. Trust me, this is not a conversation you would have overheard anywhere in 1999. I’m trying not to laugh. Need to concentrate on the old soul records in front of me. Ooh, Ann Peebles!
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